


As Long As You Love Me

by HolisticPanda



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Dirk Gently - Freeform, F/M, I mean they're still best friends, Just uh with sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:57:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolisticPanda/pseuds/HolisticPanda
Summary: They live together. Sort of. It’s more like she wanders into his apartment every few weeks to sleep in his bed and eat all of his food and occasionally fuck the shit out of him.





	

Ken slips his key into the lock and gently pushes open the door, paper bag of groceries balanced in his other arm and the mail tucked precariously beneath his chin. Unsurprisingly it's mostly bills and credit card offers but there's a letter from Dirk addressed to Bart that he’s planning on opening the second he gets a moment to relax. Bart wouldn't mind, and besides, she's been gone for almost three weeks while he’s stuck living a monotonous life of bi-weekly laundry and grocery shopping.

He has a ‘real’ job now as an electrician which pays decently well for his field, but he still hacks on the side for the fun and extra cash if the job’s safe and easy enough. Between his two jobs he’s easily able to afford a comfortable lifestyle. Boring, but comfortable.

Letting loose a tired breath he pulls off his tie and tosses it onto the bed, quickly following it with his shirt and following that with the thin white undershirt. He next kicks off his shoes and is about to unbutton his pants when his comforter suddenly shifts. On instinct he grabs the aluminum baseball bat resting behind the door and raises it to his shoulder defensively. In the past he might have screamed and run away, but you didn't travel around the country with an assassin without growing some sort of a spine.

Jaw clenched, he slowly approaches the lump in his bed. After taking a deep breath to calm himself, he darts a hand forward to flip up the bottom corner of his blanket and jumps back into a defensive stance, bat raised and ready to attack. He's equally relieved and annoyed to see the dirty, tanned foot poking out of the edge of his comforter and lowers his bat with a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Bart!”

The lump moves and sits up sleepily to stare at him, eyes half closed and crusted over with yellow dust. She’s covered in dried blood and looks like hell—well, moreso than usual—and he doesn't have to look very closely to know that he'll be changing his sheets immediately. 

“Hey.”

He fights down the urge to smile. As thrilled as he is to see her, and as much as he wants to wrap her up in as tight of a hug as he can manage, he’s not quite ready to let go of his annoyance. “Would it kill you to call ahead if you were coming home?”

Bart continues to stare at him silently, and if he hadn't seen it directed at nearly every other person they'd met, he might've found the look unnerving. Sighing deeply, he sets the bat back in its hiding place and turns to address her again.

“When was the last time you showered? And have you been brushing?” She shrugs a shoulder nonchalantly and he groans. “Come on, get up.” 

He pulls her out of bed and drags her into the bathroom, letting her lean the majority of her body weight on his arm as they walk. Once inside he peels her dirty clothing off to fall into a rumpled pile at her feet. His face heats up because even though she’s filthy and hunched over and he’s seen it all before, he still finds her beautiful.

He gets the water started and shucks the rest of his own clothing, then helps her step into the bathtub. He lets the water run over her first, and once he feels she’s been properly rinsed, he squirts a large dollop of shampoo on top of her head. His fingers scrub at her hair, his face cringing at the blood and dirt that muddies the floor of the shower. The fact that none of it is hers makes it even more disgusting. She moans quietly at the feeling of his fingers against her scalp and he swallows. “Feel good?” he asks, craning his head around to look at her. Her eyes are closed when she hums her reply, an expression of pure bliss on her face.

Once he’s satisfied that her hair is as clean as he can get it he reaches for his washcloth and runs it over her skin, scrubbing hard at the especially dirty spots until the white cloth is a dirty brown. He quickly tosses it into the dirty clothes bin and then reaches for the toothbrush he keeps in the caddy beneath the shower head. 

His hands turn her around to face him, allowing the warm water to rinse the shampoo out of her hair while he helps her brush. “Open,” he orders, fixing her with as stern of a frown as he can manage. Her mouth reluctantly opens wide and he gently goes to work, brushing the insides and back of her mouth with the brush for a few minutes. “Smile.” She closes her mouth and does as he asks, but it looks a lot more like she’s growling at him. He finishes cleaning the front of her teeth, and when he’s satisfied that he’s hit every available surface, he twists her back towards the stream of warm water. “Spit.” She lets the remaining toothpaste dribble down her chest and he rolls his eyes. She always had to fight him on something, even if it was something as small as not spitting out her toothpaste when he asked.

Ken shuts the shower off and motions for her to step out first. He runs the towel over her body, dabbing until she’s no longer wet, and dries her hair as best he can. Tossing the used towel into the hamper, he leads her over to the bathroom sink so that the both of them are standing in front of the mirror. Her hair is wild and unbrushed and her skin is pink from his scrubbing, but she’s clean. 

“See? Isn’t that better?” He wonders when he became her caretaker; when he became the one who had. But then he realizes that if he didn’t do it, Bart would never do it for herself. Hygiene was and would never be high on her list of priorities. 

Bart looks at herself blankly, grunts, and then shuffles back to the bed to fall onto it face first, completely ignoring the oversized t-shirt and the pair of his boxer shorts he’d set out for her to sleep in. She didn’t have any of her own clothing preferring to take what she liked from her victims, so when she was in town she usually just borrowed his.

Sighing exasperatedly, Ken slips on a pair of shorts and walks back into the bedroom to cover her before she catches a cold or something when her hand lashes out to grab his wrist and pull him into bed. She rolls over on top of him before he can even react, grinning down at him in a way that meant she’d only been pretending to be tired for at least the past half hour. “You didn’t say you missed me.”

His surprised eyes fall from her face to her chest, watching the nipples of her small breasts slowly harden into little pink pebbles. “You know I did.”

She looks far too pleased by his answer, her grin widening even more. “I missed you too.” She leans down to kiss him. Her teeth latch none too gently onto his bottom lip and he winces at the taste of iron in his mouth, but right after she sucks on it gently to soothe some the pain. She plants a few more soft bites along his throat, growling as her toes hook into the rubber of his shorts to push them down his legs until he’s naked again. She stands up on her knees and lifts his penis into the air beneath her but pauses with his tip resting right up against her already wet entrance. Whether it’s from her shower or not he isn’t sure.

She smiles down at him teasingly, enjoying the look of impatience and desire on his face. “You miss this too?” Bart waits for him to nod before she slowly sinks down onto him, and the both of them groan simultaneously at the feeling. Her hips swirl in an attempt to adjust to him inside her, and the instant she finds a comfortable position she begins to leisurely rise and fall on top of him, her mouth open and cheeks flushed with pleasure. She lets her head fall back, fully exposing her throat to his half lidded eyes, and he gently runs his hands over the fine hairs of her thighs and up to her chest, cupping her breasts. He playfully squeezes them, earning a low growl from her throat, before returning them to her thin hips in an attempt to encourage her to slow down a little. Instead she grabs his wrists and forces them above his head. He's a little surprised to find that he can't move them an inch; he’d forgotten how abnormally strong she is, and not just for her size either.

Now that she's in full control she really begins to move, tossing her head and grunting on each down stroke. It’s all he can do to hang on as her hands release his to grab the headboard. She’s so fast that it’s actually becoming a little painful but not enough to try to get her to stop. Her mouth falls open as she gasps and groans on top of him, and he tries to warn her that she needs to slow down, that he’s about to cum, but all he can do is gasp along with her. He spills inside of her first, groaning through his orgasm, and right after he feels her constrict almost painfully on his sensitive cock.

He watches the thick veins in her neck rise and pulse as she orgasms, head thrown back in a silent scream and uncut fingernails digging forcefully into his chest as though she’s trying to ground herself to him.

She finishes shuddering and jerking on top of him after a few seconds and collapses, head nestling itself under his chin as she struggles to catch her breath. She slides off of him to rest at his side, trailing some of their combined mess over his hip, and drapes an arm and a leg over his body. “That was fun,” she murmurs sleepily, a small grin twitching at her lips. “Quick, though.”

Still panting, he turns his head to look down at her incredulously. “And that’s my fault?”   
  


“Kinda, yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh and turns back to stare at the ceiling. Sometimes, he still can’t believe that they’re here—that they  _ live _ together. Sort of. In truth it’s more like she wanders into his apartment every few weeks to sleep in his bed and eat all of his food and occasionally fuck the shit out of him.

But he was growing tired of this pattern. He never wondered if she was alive or injured, but he did constantly worry that she wasn’t eating or sleeping enough, and he just...missed her. As crazy as it sounds to even himself, she’s easily his best friend. He remembers how during the entire time he was with Bart the only person who had called his phone had been a wrong number. “How long are you staying?”

“Dunno. Until the universe says I hafta leave,” she mumbles into his chest.

“Why does it have to be  _ you _ ?” She grunts in response, her way of asking him to elaborate, and he sighs. “Why do you have to be the one to do what the universe says? Why can’t you just…”

“Be normal?” she finishes for him, an edge of contempt in her voice.

“Be  _ free _ .”

She shrugs against him. “But I love killing.”  
  
“More than me?”

She’s silent for almost a full minute, and just when he’s beginning to wonder if she fell asleep, she answers. “S’not fair. It’s different.” He feels her shift, her wild hair stuffing itself in his face as she looks up. “The universe brought us together for a reason, Ken, and there’s also a reason I have to be the one to kill people. I don’t know why, but this is just the way it’s meant to be.”

He sighs heavily, tired of hearing that answer from her. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and it wouldn’t be the last until she agreed to at least  _ try _ to stay in one place for more than a week. Preferably with him. “I know. I just wish the universe would bother to share its plans with me sometimes.”

“You get used to it. It’s actually kinda relaxing not knowing.” Her fingertips dance over his chest in a pattern that makes absolutely no sense, and he has to wonder what exactly she’s hearing in her head. “Can you sing me the song? The one with the words you remember, from before.” 

She looks so hopeful that he can only shake his head. He’d never considered himself a particularly good singer, but whenever he sang for her she seemed to hang onto his every word as though he were the king of pop himself. “Sure. Anything for my killer angel.” She grins at the nickname, and he clears his throat to begin to sing:

_ I don’t care who you are, _

_ where you’re from,  _

_ don’t care what you did,  _

_ as long as you love me. _

He repeats the chorus a few more times because it’s really the only part of it she likes and then glances down to see that she’d drifted off. If he’s lucky, she’ll still be there in the morning. Last time she’d only stayed for two days so he feels entitled to a little extra time with her, but more than likely he’s going to wake up and she’ll be gone. She hates saying goodbye, so she waits until he either falls asleep or leaves for work to go off on her next murder spree.  
  
He hopes that one day things’ll be different, that one day she’ll be able to just live a normal life in a normal apartment with a normal guy. Or at least as normal of a life that a holistic assassin is allowed to have. He waits until she begins to softly snore before he slowly slides out of bed to start cooking. The least he can do is make sure that she has something good to take with her on her journey.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I know I said that I wanted them to best friends, but I also said that I low level shipped them. If I write another story for them, I promise to make it more fluff than smut. Mostly because the older I get the less into writing it I am.


End file.
